Paper Gangster
by Dr. 42
Summary: Santana Lopez, mob boss, attempts to pull off a counterfeiting heist while also keeping her marriage to socialite Brittany Pierce secret in 1960's era Vegas. Sebastian Smythe, an LVPD detective attempts to bring the mob down to please his father.
1. Chapter 1

Santana leaned back in the velvet armchair, taking a deep puff from her cigarette. She let out the smoke slowly, closing her eyes.

_Nothing beats relaxing in your favorite chair while wearing nothing but your favorite fedora, _she thought, crossing her bare legs delicately.

"I'm worried."

Santana looked over to the bed where Brittany was lounging, wrapped in the bedsheets. She was leafing through a magazine, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed.

"And why would you be worried? You're never worried," Santana questioned smoothly, taking another drag from her cigarette.

"I know. But I've just been getting a bad feeling lately. Like when I eat peanut butter," Brittany replied.

Santana sighed, rubbing her temple. "Bad feeling about what?"

"There's this guy in a fancy suit. Every time I go down to The Red Ace, he's there. And he's always bugging me. Asking me boring questions."

Santana stiffened slightly, her ears perking and her eyebrows shooting up. _I can't have some fuck-up bugging Brittany. It'll all be over if she lets the cat out of the bag about certain operations. Or about... us,_ she thought.

"Any idea who this guy is? The one who's been bugging you."

Brittany bit her nail and looked up at Santana. "I don't know. He hangs around the Diamond Lounge and talks to anybody who sits down at the bar."

Putting the cigarette out in the ashtray on the side table, Santana uncrossed her legs and stood up. She sauntered over to the bed, crawling up onto it and posing on all fours. She gave Brittany a coy smile.

The blonde rolled over, sprawling out on the bedsheets and arching her back. Santana crawled over until she was right over Brittany. "_And I love you, I love you, I love you like never before,_" she cooed.

She placed a gentle kiss on her brow, and Brittany giggled as she made her way down to her mouth.

"Don't worry about that guy anymore, Britt," she said, her lips a hair's breadth away from Britt's. "But just to be safe, I don't want you going to The Red Ace anymore, okay? Promise me, Brittany."

For a fleeting second, Santana saw the look she loved so much on Britt's face. That mischevous look on her innocent face that said, 'Does this mean I get to be naughty?'

Brittany smirked and kissed her softly. "I'll promise... but only if you make me."

Santana let out a girlish laugh as she flipped over, pulling Brittany's smooth body on top of hers. /

"Now to the big news we wanted to share, Tana: we finally got our hands on that thing you wanted," said Noah, sitting smugly in his chair on the opposite side of the conference table from Brittany.

Brittany didn't particularly like being at Santana's meetings. _Being a mob boss' wife is supposed to be fun. Last night was fun; this is not fun,_ she thought, looking at all the old men and the goons seated around the table, ready to give their reports and information. She listened to the men talk, but she never heard a word they said.

"That is excellent news, Noah," Santana said with a smile, looking genuinely pleased.

Brittany was pulled from her reverie to listen to her wife. She didn't quite care what she had to say, but there was something about the power and authority in her voice that never failed to turn her on. To see Santana boss around these men who were older and, in many cases, much bigger than her made Brittany want to call off the meeting and pull her lover to the bedroom immediately. But she knew it could be trouble. Only Santana's closest family and advisors knew about their marriage. It was probably bad enough that these guys were being bossed around by a woman, but a lesbian too? The mob was a man's world, and a girl like her had to be cautious.

Still, it wasn't like it wasn't kind of obvious. She looked over at Santana, in her black pantsuit and her fedora. She wore men's clothing, but had them custom tailored to specifically show off her figure. A proud woman, but also insistent on being taken seriously.

And she looked at herself, her flowing silver sequined gown hugging her curves and shining in the light. _A proper lady, _as her father would have said. She and Santana made quite a pair, they did.

Santana was talking again. "I want the press ready to print by tomorrow night."

The guy on the other end of the table, Tony, stood up quickly. "But Ms. Lopez, we just stole the thing last night. Isn't it a little soon to-," he started complaining. Brittany didn't like Tony. He'd always been a brown noser, sucking up to Santana. Hitting on her.

"Callate cabron," Santana hissed angrily. "I am the boss, right? Or did someone else get put in charge and you forgot to fucking tell me, Tony?"

He sat down, staring a hole into the table and looking embarassed.

"In case any of you other shit heads are getting cold feet about the operation, let me put your fears to rest. The head of security at The Red Ace owes me a favor. I caught him getting sucked off by a bellboy in a supply closet last time I was there, and I threatened to make it nastier than when I tried to out Rock Hudson." She placed a hand on Brittany's thigh underneath the table. "I had him... misplace a key to the basement floor for me. Tomorrow, we're moving it under the casino, and we'll run our operation from there. No one will expect us running an op under a casino that isn't ours, and if we're caught, we pull the plug and let Chang take the fall for counterfeiting under his hotel."

She smirked at the pleasantly surprised glances from around the table.

"This could work Tana," said Noah, giving her an impressed look and a nod.

"Of course it'll work. I've already got everything set up for you idiots. All you have to do is get the machine in there tomorrow afternoon, and by midnight, we can be all ready to start making some money. From what I can see, there's no way it can go wrong."

Brittany smiled. This woman was smart. This woman was powerful. This woman was hers. /

Blaine was nervous. He tugged on the end of his casino security uniform, but it just didn't feel right, like it was the wrong size and it was choking him. It was his first job- didn't he have a reason to feel nervous?

The sun was shining bright, and wherever he turned, it seemed like it was hitting him right in the eyes. He and the other guy they'd assigned to this job, Kurt, were standing outside the hotel, the printing press stowed away in a large metal container that they were pushing. The plan was to have any onlookers think it was a safe full of money, or a giant lockbox full of chips to restock the cashier's station on the casino floor. So far, no one had given them a second look as they'd unloaded the van and moved toward the entrance.

A few minutes passed, and finally the head of security appeared at the door, pulling it open and ushering them in. Blaine motioned Kurt over, and they both pushed the container, wheeling it through the door. The followed the head of security to the far side of the casino, through the house floor. They reached an elevator, where the security man put a key into a slot and the doors slid open. He looked at them with what seemed like hatred in his eyes.

"This elevator takes you all the way down. There's no cameras down there, so you're in the clear." He gave them the key. "That's the only way to get that container of yours up or down, so don't lose it. And remember- I didn't give it to you."

He strode away in a huff, like he had something important to do. Or like he didn't want to be seen hanging around with them.

Blaine pushed the container in the rather spacious elevator, and hit the button with a downward pointing arrow. The elevator lurched as it started to descend.

"So how did you get involved in all this?" Blaine asked innocently without looking at Kurt.

"How does anyone get involved in this shit?" Kurt countered almost angrily. "By mistake. What does it matter to you anyway?"

Blaine raised a brow, taken back by the hostility of a man with such a soft, feminine voice. "No reason. Sorry I asked."

The two men went the rest of the elevator ride in awkward silence, the whole debacle taking about a minute.

Elevator lurching to a stop, Blaine continued his trek with the container as he pushed it through the doorway. He parked the metal box in the corner of the large basement, careful to situate it behind some other wooden crates that had been neatly stacked there.

Kurt strode over to the metal door on the other end of the basement room, unlocking it and propping it open slightly with his foot. He looked at Blaine expectantly.

"Oh, right," Blaine said, pulling the radio he had off of his belt. He turned it on and set it to the frequency the boss had determined beforehand. "Noah? This is Blaine. We're in the basement."

A moment of silence, then the radio crackled. "Any problems so far?" came Noah's voice from the box.

"None. We've got the door open and we're all set for your boys to come down and start things."

"Roger that. We'll be there in an hour. Keep a low profile."

Blaine stared over at the icy looking Kurt who was sitting on a large crate, picking at his nails.

"Yeah, I don't think that's going to be much of a problem." /

"I didn't call in those favors to get you on the police force so you could dick around and achieve nothing, Sebastian."

Sebastian sighed, gritting his teeth before taking a puff from his cigarette. "I know Dad. I'm trying, alright?"

"No, you're not. Otherwise I'd have Santana Lopez on death row, waiting to sit that pretty ass of hers down in the electric chair!"

"I get it, Jesus. No one's ever brought a criminal empire down in a night, so you need to be a little more patient. These things take time."

"Shut your mouth Sebastian. Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot, or a little kid. You think I don't know things like this take time? You've been head detective of Vegas PD for almost a year now and you have nothing to show for it, you little fuck."

Sebastian grimaced. It was hard, not jumping over the desk and smashing his father's face into the desk until it was nothing more than a bloody pulp. No one ever talked to him like this. Only his dad.

"Look, as the state's attorney, it's my job to put people like Lopez away. To do my part to dissolve the organized crime in this country. You offered to help, and I accepted it and got you a job with law enforcement. If you're not going to actually help, I can just as quickly get you booted and on your own for a job." His father leaned back in his chair, putting his legs up on the desk and crossing his hands across his lap. He stared at Sebastian, his expression bored. "So are you going to do anything about Lopez, or are you going to start looking for a job as a blackjack dealer at her casino?"

Sebastian drew one last breath from the cigarette, and flicked the smoldering butt into his father's lap.

"Fuck!" the man yelled, scrambling to rid himself of the burning piece of ash.

Opening the door, Sebastian walked casually out, not even looking back to say, "I'll have something by tomorrow morning."

He made his way to the car, smirking at the thought of his father fuming in his office. Hopping in, he started the ignition and deftly pulled out of his spot parallel to two other cars. He had always prided himself on his driving ability.

It was only a half hour drive to The Strip, but it seemed like it took longer. Sebastian was excited. He'd gotten a tip off from a reliable informant that something big was going to happen tonight. And he'd heard from another of his insiders rumor had it that Lopez had stolen the printing press that had gone missing only a day before. A counterfeiting sting would be enough to win his dad's respect, right? Or at the very least, shut him the hell up for a week or two.

He parked in his usual curbside spot, a stakeout cops dream spot. From it, he could clearly see The Red Ace, the Changs' casino; The Silver Rush, Hudson's casino; and Diamond Dreams, Lopez' casino. They were the three biggest hotspots for criminal activity in all of Vegas, and it was up to him to find out which one was gonna be hit tonight. They weren't the only casinos in Vegas, but he was sure if anything big was going down, it would be in one of them. If he picked the wrong one, he'd be a laughingstock. His dad would have him fired. He'd never work in Vegas again.

But if he was right, no one would ever be able to say a cross word against him so long as he lived.

Flipping open his notebook, he began to peruse the notes he had taken from casing the three casinos.

"That blond broad. Rich one. She's always with Lopez, and I guess she lives at the Diamond Dream. I've seen her at The Red Ace three times in the past two weeks. As good a place as any to start looking," he said to himself, folding up his notes and stepping out of the car.

He stopped a few paces away from the door to The Red Ace. He pulled a radio from his trenchcoat pocket and turned it on. "Karofsky, I'm going to be at The Red Ace. I'm cracking this Lopez thing tonight. I need you to keep an eye on Diamond Dreams, but be careful. This might get ugly later. I'll keep you posted."

A second later, Karofsky crackled over the radio. "Roger, Smythe. I'll keep in touch in case I see anything."

Sebastian pocketed the radio and stepped through the doors of the looming casino, grinning at the women standing around the slot machines. Casinos like this were always full of beautiful women, slightly intoxicated and dressed provocatively. And his grin sent them all swooning.

He picked through the eye candy until he spotted the woman he wanted: Brittany Pierce. She sat at the bar, looking around nervously, her slim body wrapped tightly in a deep blue sequined dress, a white fur shawl draped over her shoulders. Her hair was done up exquisitely, curls framing her face, dark eyeliner and mascara making her eyes pop against her creamy white skin.

Before Sebastian could make his way over to the bar however, Brittany stood up, walking over to a group of men who had just entered the casino. He recognized the man in front as Noah Puckerman, Lopez' supposed 'right hand man.' Trailing behind were several other figures he recognized as confirmed members of Lopez' entourage.

Surreptitiously pulling out his radio, he dialed in Karofsky's frequency. "Karofsky, something's definitely going on at The Red Ace. I've got Noah Puckerman and Tony Malone in here, meeting Brittany Pierce. Get backup ready outside, I'll signal you when I find out what's up."

"Smythe, a few mobsters meeting in a casino is a regular occurence in Vegas. Are you sure you want me to get a squad together without any kind of probable cause?" Karofsky crackled.

"Karofsky, as a friend, trust me on this one. I know something is going down tonight. And as a superior, do what I ask, or you ass is toast." Sebastian switched off the radio without another word and quietly slipped in procession behind the mobsters, careful to stay a few feet behind them.

"Where is she?" Brittany asked Noah quietly.

"She got tied up with something just before we left. She says she'll be here soon, and she says... she wanted me to tell you, 'I love you,'" he replied, somewhat uncomfortably.

Brittany smiled widely. Sebastian lost the rest of the conversation as they passed a rather rowdy, drunk group of gamblers celebrating a win. He side-stepped behind a column a split second before Noah turned around, scanning the surroundings before opening a door marked with a 'stairway' sign.

_I love you? Why would she want to say that? _he thought. And then it dawned on him. He felt stupid for not figuring it out earlier. Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce were entangled in some kind of romantic relationship. To what extent, he wasn't sure. Girlfriends? Sex partners?

He pushed the thought from his mind. As intriguing as he found it, it was an investigation for another day. Peeking from behind the pillar, he saw the last of the mobsters disappear through the stairway door. Looking around, it seemed as though no one had noticed them.

_They must have some kind of deal worked out with the Changs,_ he thought, looking around for any sort of security. There wasn't a single uniform in sight.

Sebastian took one look around, and high tailed it for the stairway door. He jiggled the knob.

"Locked. Shit," he said, angry at the thought that he wouldn't be able to see what was going on beyond the door without causing a fuss.

"What are you doing?"

Sebastian spun quickly, coming face to face with the chief of security.

"That area is for casino employees only. I'm going to need to ask you to go back to the floor or leave, sir," the chief said, hand resting on his sidearm.

The sidearm right next to a ring of keys. A key to this door.

"And if I refuse to leave?" he asked, giving the chief a sneer.

"Then I guess we're going down to the security room for a one on one, aren't we, wiseass?" said the chief, pulling out his handcuffs and securing Sebastian's wrists behind his back.

Sebastian smirked as the chief led him through a wide metal door marked 'Security Only.' He was led into a dimly lit metal walled room with a small table and two metal chairs.

The chief undid the handcuffs and clipped them back to his belt. He slipped the bolt on the door to the room and quietly reached for the nightstick at his hip.

Sebastian was quicker, pulling the revolver from his body holster under his jacket. He took aim and pulled the trigger, shooting the chief in the back and through the lung.

The chief grunted, shock stunning him from making any other noise. He fell forward, leaning against the door as he slid to the floor. He pulled himself over and faced Sebastian, who was reholstering his weapon.

"Probably should have patted me down before you locked yourself in a room with me. And I guess putting us in a soundproof interrogation room probably didn't work in your favor like you thought it would," he said smugly, crouching down to talk to the chief face-to-face.

The chief said nothing, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His face began to contort as the shock wore off and the pain began to seep into his chest.

Sebastian quietly pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and slipped them on. He unhooked the ring of keys from the chief's belt and placed it into his pocket.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry it had to come to this. But then again, this has always been a hazard in our line of work, right?" He pulled the gun from the chief's holster and took a bullet from the chamber. Slipping it into the chief's stunned hand, he stood up to admire his handiwork. "Nothing like faking a suicide chief. It's a shame you couldn't live with the guilt of stealing from the casino and rigging blackjack tables on the floor for your pals."

He slid the bolt back on the door and pulled it open quietly. Winking at the chief, he slid out and trekked down the hallway to the main floor. Taking a moment to examine the keyring. All of the keys had a small label attached, and he quickly found the key marked 'Stairwell.'

Standing outside the stairwell door, he looked to the left side of the casino, and in a moment of lucky coincidence, he saw the employee basement elevator.

He quickly stared down to the keyring, sifting through them for a key that looked like it would work for the elevator panel.

"Nothing. Which means someone other than the security team has it," he deduced. He whipped the radio out of his pocket and tuning it in.

"Karofsky, I need you and a squad of men at The Red Ace in twenty. Do you understand? I need armed reinforcements. Something is going on with the Lopez mob in the basement and we're turning it out tonight."

"I hope you're right," Karofsky crackled.

A moment of silence.

"Actually, I hope you're wrong."


	2. Chapter 2

Brittany made it down the stairs, walking as elegantly as if she were strolling down a hallway. No one could strut around in heels like Brittany could, the product of her mother having her practice since she was old enough to wear shoes. The curls framing her face bounced with each step, her jewelry making a soft clinking sound.

It was Brittany's own personal catch-22. She loved the extravagant life of a mobster's wife. She really loved her wife, and nothing made her happier than Santana, but looking beautiful was a close second.

And God, was she beautiful. Blue eyes; soft pale skin, lightly freckled; long, bright blond hair; a thin, muscular figure with supple breasts. Santana gave her whatever she wanted, too. Dresses, jewelry, make-up, shoes- anything. She had a closet bigger than most rooms in Vegas. And she celebrated everything that was hers.

But she hated the lifestyle Santana led. The crooked heists, the dirty meet-ups with shady figures, the constant danger they were both in from rivals. It wasn't a life she had ever imagined herself being a part of. But it was one she was now a part of, for better or worse.

Noah opened the door at the bottom of the stairwell, holding it open and gesturing into the room towards Brittany.

"Thank you, Noah," she said, giving him a small smile and stepping into the dank basement room.

It was dirty down here, smelly too. She hated to leave the luxury of her penthouse at Diamond Dreams, but she had always made it a point to be there for her wife. And a dirty basement wasn't nearly as bad as the night she spent at the slaughterhouse for a drug exchange a year and a half ago.

She took her spot in a dusty highback chair that someone had set in the corner of the room for her. Her back straight, her neck stretched, she sat like a princess, waiting patiently for her queen to arrive. Crossing her legs, she watched as Noah and his goons began to work on setting up the large metal contraption that would, as Santana put it, 'get them more money than they could ever need.' She didn't see how a machine could make them that rich, unless it made money.

"Ohhh," she said quietly to herself, suddenly realizing what this whole operation was about.

A few hours passed, and the machine was finally coming together. Brittany finished leafing through her third magazine, slipping it into her clutch and letting out a wide yawn.

"Noah, where is she? I'm tired of waiting, and watching you put together a hunk of metal is not an ideal night for me," she said in an annoyed tone.

Noah sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Sweetheart, I told you everything she told me. She was held up with some business, okay? When she's done there, she'll come right here," he said tiredly.

Brittany sighed, but accepted the truth. She didn't want to push Noah when he was stressed anyway. He was a good man. He'd been friends with Santana since childhood, and had even had a relationship with her in her younger days of sexual confusion and insecurity.

Nighttime arrived quickly, as the men in the basement began their final tweaks on the contraption in the center of the basement.

"This thing's ready to go, boss," said one of the newer members of the group, a dashing young man with gloss back hair, slicked back smoothly. Brittany never remembered names.

Noah gave his hair a pat, giving the crew a smirk. "Fire it up, ladies."

The second the machine whirred to life, a sharp crack and a slam boomed out as the door to the stairwell was kicked off of its hinges.

"Freeze! Las Vegas Police Department!"

Brittany let out a scream as she watched Noah and his crew pull out their weapons. She dove behind a crate and held her head between her hands, curling into a ball.

Shots rang out. Smoke filled the air. Men yelled as they were shot down where they stood, some silent and dead before they hit the ground. She could hear round after round being unloaded, crates being splintered by stray bullets.

She peeked through a gap between the crates at ground level, sobbing quietly. She saw a pair of blue slacked legs stop in front of the crates.

"We need reinforcements now!" screamed out the policeman, seconds before Brittany heard a grotesque squelching sound. She let out another scream as the body hit the ground, his face looking straight through the gap, the bullet wound through his forehead gaping and bloody.

The shootout couldn't have lasted more than forty seconds or so, but to Brittany it felt like hours. Once the noises had stopped and the smoke had begun to clear, she sat up slowly, pulling herself up using the crates as leverage.

When she saw the scene of the carnage, she placed a hand over her mouth and retched. Dozens of bodies littered the floor, pools of blood spreading quickly. She let out a small choked cry as she saw a few policemen standing around Noah's body, a sneer frozen on his lifeless face. Towards the door, another group of policemen were escorting the rest of the mobsters up the stairs in handcuffs.

Brittany tried to stay quiet, as none of the officers had seen her. She really tried. But she let out a choked sob as she scanned the faces of men that she hadn't particularly liked, but that had become a part of her life anyway. All of them dead.

At the sound of her cry, one of the officer's turned on his heel, searching for the source of the sound. His eyes scanned the stack of crates until his gaze met Brittany's tear stained face.

He held up his hand, pointing directly at Brittany. "Cuff her." /

Blaine opened his eyes, the sunlight streaming through his window. He stretched out his arms and yawned loudly. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sat up, interested only in what he was going to make himself for breakfast.

At this point, the sleepy haze cleared from his head, and he realized the bars enclosing him. The ache in his back from the hard, dusty cot intensified as he sat up. He blinked hard a few times, trying to focus his eyes and acclimatize his vision to the dank prison and the dusty air.

Looking straight ahead at the bars that divided his cell and the cell next to his, he saw a pair of blue eyes staring back at him.

"Ms. Pierce? Is that... is that you?" he asked, slightly bewildered.

She nodded yes, the mascara staining her eyes and cheeks. "When the shooting started, I hid. They found me," she said, her voice hoarse and scared.

Blaine kneeled next to the bars, giving Brittany a sympathetic glance. He stuck his fingers between the metal, and she squeezed them gently.

"They're all dead, aren't they? It's just you and me?" she asked, a fresh tear forming in the corner of her eye.

Blaine looked away, unsure of how to tell her. "They took me, Tony, and Raul alive. We were the only ones. Raul died about an hour after we got here; he took a bullet to the stomach. Tony tried to make a run for it when they undid the cuffs and got shot down just outside the station." He sniffed lightly, his hands shaking against the bars. He hadn't realized just how shaken he was about the whole incident until he had recounted it.

Brittany wiped her eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. "Well, I didn't know you very well, but... I'm... I'm glad you made it out okay," she said, nodding.

He smiled, nodding back. "Me too."

The door at the end of the room opened and the warden and a few other officers entering briskly.

"Alright! Back of your cells, now! No touching anything!"

Blaine looked to Brittany and said quickly, "Look, just do exactly as they say and you'll be fine. We'll talk later."

They both stood up and took their places against the back wall of their cells. Blaine watched as the old, greying warden strode into the room, followed closely by two men, one a large burly man in uniform, and the other a much thinner man in a suit and coat.

The thin man gave Blaine a wide, toothy grin. "This guy. Take him to the interrogation room for a one-on-one."

The warden tapped the burly officer on the shoulder, who opened the cell and motioned for Blaine to exit. He cuffed him behind the back, and pushed him rather roughly out of the cell.

The warden turned, heading the procession out of the holding room and into the hallway.

Moments later, Blaine found himself sitting in a bland white room cuffed to a metal chair.

"Be sweet with him, Smythe. Understand me? I don't need any more trouble at this station," said the warden, closing the door as he walked out.

There was a tense moment of silence. Blaine looked at his hands, avoiding the gaze and sneer of this policeman.

"My name is Colton Turner," said the man lazily, gazing at Blaine almost seductively.

"The warden just called you Smythe," said Blaine, not looking up.

"And what does the warden know?"

"I'd assume he'd know the name of one of his peers."

Blaine looked up to Smythe/Turner, raising an eyebrow. He looked back at Blaine, smirking.

"An astute observation, Mr. Anderson. But I'm trying to be honest with you right now. Perhaps the warden and my constituents might know me as Smythe. But the more important fact... is that Santana Lopez knows me as Colton Turner."

That caught Blaine's attention. "You're... a mobster?" he asked, his mouth agape.

Smythe shrugged, his smile widening. "I've been Lopez' inside man for almost a year now. How do you think she's managed to stay out of the spotlight for so long?"

Blaine's expression darkened. "So what the hell happened last night?"

Smythe's grin turned to a grimace. "I slipped up. One of the subordinate officers took it upon himself to act on a hint he'd heard. I didn't hear a word about it until about an hour ago. I, um, I'm sorry. For whatever happened last night. I'm sorry I didn't stop it."

They were both quiet for a moment as Blaine allowed the information and the apology to sink in.

"Now, I need something from you Blaine. I can get you out of here, but it's going to take a few days to sort things out with the PD. In the meantime, there's a favor needs doing. For Lopez herself."

Blaine perked up, curious. "What could Lopez need from me?"

"Well, she asked me to take care of it, and it just so happens you can help me. She's had some suspicions for quite a while of a traitor. A traitor in her inner circle, if you will. And while she couldn't bring herself to face it, I had to give it to her straight: it's Brittany."

Blaine looked troubled, trying to absorb the information. Brittany was an informant for the police? Or a rival mob? The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He hadn't been with the Lopez mob for very long, but literally every time he'd seen Santana, Brittany had been by her side.

"What I need from you is simple. For the few days you and Ms. Pierce are going to be in our holding cells here, I need you to wear this microphone. Talk to her, see if she spills anything. When we get some evidence, Santana can start a rehaul of our organization, and I assure you you'll be quite a prominent part of it."

"But why would I do this for you? I don't even know who the fuck you are. I have no idea whether you're lying to me or not. As far as I know, you're just another fucking cop," said Blaine, twiddling his thumbs, unsure of what to do.

"Maybe I am. That's your call to make. But I'll tell you what," started Smythe, standing up and moving slowly over to where Blaine was sitting. He hovered over Blaine's seat, bending slightly and getting in close to him. Blaine was frozen, his breathing quickening as Smythe stopped an inch from his face. "I'm going to get you out of that prison cell either way. Whether you get the evidence Lopez needs or not, you'll be out of here in a matter of days. The least you can do is get wired. What have you got to lose?" Smythe closed the distance, locking his lips against Blaine's.

When he pulled away, Blaine gasped slightly.

"Think of it as an investment in your future," Smythe purred, unlocking Blaine from the chair.

Smythe left the room, only to have the warden enter the room a second later. He pulled Blaine from the chair and led him back to his cell in the holding pen.

Looking into Brittany's cell, he noticed she was in the corner, crying quietly. A smaller blond woman whom he hadn't noticed before was holding her closely, patting her hair and whispering assurances to her.

Blaine plopped down onto his cot. He listened carefully, waiting until the warden's footsteps had faded and he heard a door slam.

"Hello," Blaine said, looking to the blond woman holding Brittany.

She furrowed her brow, looking at him diminutively. "Hi," she replied flatly, obviously not interested in small talk.

"Um, thanks for taking care of her while I was with the cops," Blaine said, unsure of how to phrase a polite "go away" without being awkward.

The woman shot him a steely glance. "You also want to thank me for taking care of her while you were snoring?"

Blaine didn't know how to continue. "I'm Blaine. Thank you... for taking care of her while I was snoring."

The blond smirked. "The name's Quinn. Don't ask me what I'm in here for, because I won't tell you. Now, was there something you needed? Or would you kindly fuck off?"

Brittany sniffled, looking up at Quinn. "It's okay. He's... he's a friend."

Quinn shot him a withering look. "Whatever."

The rest of the day passed quietly, with Brittany crying quietly until she had no more tears left in her, Quinn consoling her, and Blaine sitting in his cell feeling the microphone Smythe had slipped into his pocket when he had kissed him.

Blaine got ready for bed thinking about that kiss. Night came and his lips still tingled from the friction of Smythe's. Right before he went to bed for the night, he made sure to place the receiving end of his microphone as close to the end of his bed as he could, tucking the recording device under his pillow. He did this in the hopes that Brittany would give herself away to Quinn sometime during the night.

"So tell me more about this girl in your life," he heard Quinn say. Blaine was facing towards the opposite wall, eager to pull the girls' attention away from him.

"She's amazing. She's beautiful, and strong, and powerful. I love her," Brittany replied, the adoration in her voice palpable.

"Sounds hot. How come she isn't down here now, bailing you out?"

"She's... she can't. It's kind of complicated."

"Ugh. I hate complicated relationships. It's so much easier when you keep things simple."

"I think she's worth it. Otherwise I never would have said yes."

"Are you... you're married? Bold move, but I guess no place better than Vegas to do it. So, she can't come down here to see you. Still worth it?"

They were both quiet for a moment.

"I really want to kiss you," came Quinn's voice after a few seconds.

"You're a lesbian?" Brittany sounded taken aback.

"You think this is my first rodeo? I was in the women's pen a few years back, did some time for theft. When a woman's only got other women around all the time, well... you learn to appreciate the finer things in life."

Blaine heard the bed creak slightly.

"Wait," Brittany said hesitantly. He heard the bed creak again. "Blaine?" she whispered towards his cell.

Blaine remained motionless, trying to keep his breathing calm.

"Blaine, are you awake?"

"He's out like a light, just like last night. When I took care of you," Quinn said in an accusing tone.

Brittany whimpered, but eventually spoke up. "Okay. You can kiss me."

Blaine heard the bed creak again, heard the soft, wet sounds of kissing. He continued to listen, quite unable to do anything else. After a few minutes, the bed creaked again. The sounds got... even wetter, and Brittany started to breathe harder and faster, giggling softly.

Gently stroking the recording box under his pillow, Blaine tuned out the sounds of the two women and instead turned to thoughts he could not control of Smythe and himself on his hard cot giggling the night away. /

Sebastian juggled the small recording cassette between his fingers. It had been almost too easy to con something useful out of that asshole Anderson. He had a way with the boys, same as the girls.

Sometimes, he felt just the slightest inkling of shame at the way he treated people, the way he used them. But the feeling never lasted longer than a few seconds before he pushed it into the back of his mind. Boys were too easy. If he spent time feeling bad about every person he'd ever taken advantage of, he'd have no time for anything else.

He smiled, thinking of the break he'd caught with this little piece of plastic. That idiot had managed to get a recording of Pierce and her little prison bitch Fabray spelunking until the sun came out. Lopez would love this little gift, courtesy of one of her own men.

The phone on Sebastian's desk rang. He answered, nestling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he continued to play with the tape.

"Sebastian Smythe, head investigator, LVPD."

"So this is how you're bringing down Lopez' organization? Jacking off all over yourself in your office?"

Sebastian's expression turned stony. "Hi Dad, good to talk to you too."

"Quit it with the sarcastic shit, Sebastian. If I don't have any kind of development in the Lopez case by tomorrow, I swear to God you are out of this town. It will not be pretty."

"Class A parenting there, you big cunt. I can promise you this though: something's going to happen tonight. Something big," said Sebastian, slamming the phone back onto the reciever.

He stood up from his chair, and set the tape into the cardboard box on his desk. Taping it up, he laughed to himself excitedly.

Something was happening tonight. Something big. /

Santana took another sip from her glass, the alcohol burning her throat pleasantly. She hoped the drink would clear her head enough to obscure reality.

She missed Brittany. But looking down at the cassette player on her desk that someone had left on her doorstep, she knew that she shouldn't. Brittany was apparently having the time of her life with some whore in the slammer.

Stepping closer to the open window, she ran her hands over her hips, feeling her own body. She was wearing Brittany's favorite dress, a hip-hugging strapless number that was a dark red, matching perfectly with her skin tone. Brittany called her a goddess every time she wore this dress.

She closed her eyes, tossing her hair back.

"_You are the hole in my head; you are the space in my bed."_

She sang quietly as she shuffled slowly in front of the window, swinging her hips and throwing her hair back and forth slowly.

"_You are the silence in between what I thought and what I said. You are the nighttime fear, you are the morning when it's clear."_

She kept her eyes closed, because every time they were open, she'd see a flash of blond hair, or the sparkle of blue eyes in the corner of her vision.

"_When it's over, you're the start. You're my head and you're my heart."_

The wind blew smoothly through the window, fluttering the drapes and bathing Santana in a cool breeze. She didn't even hear the click of the door opening.

"_No light, no light in your bright blue eyes. I never knew daylight could be so violent. No revelation in the light of day; you can't choose what stays and what fades away," _she sang quietly, a tear falling down her cheek.

"Shame about your wife. Don't feel too bad: lots of people are getting divorced these days," came a voice from behind her.

Her eyes shot open, and she turned slowly to face the intruder. It was a thin, wiry man with a toothy grin, looking at her like he'd just made the funniest joke in the world.

"Well, well. Sebastian Smythe, if I'm not mistaken? You know, your daddy's got it out for me pretty good. You here to be daddy's little tool, Sebby?" Santana teased viciously, letting every word drip with the acid of her anger. Her words were slightly slurred. She tried to hide it, not wanting to let him know she was on the way to being drunk.

Sebastian bit his lip, almost as if he were trying to keep himself from laughing. "No, honestly. I'm here for a more... personal venture," he said coyly.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" she snarled, tossing a file folder over the cassette player to hide it. It hadn't yet occured to her that Sebastian had been the one who had sent it.

"Well, it seems that you recently find yourself very single," he said, stepping closer to the desk. "I was thinking that maybe I could be a solution to that problem."

Santana smirked and took another swig from her glass. "Oh, please. Give it a break you little cocksucker. You think you could be a wild child _and _the son of a state's attorney and go unnoticed? I've got all kind of info on you. Like how as a younger man, you'd beat the girls off with a stick, but you'd beat the men off with a smile on your face." She gave him a wicked grin.

The smile fell from Smythe's face. He closed the distance between them and pushed Santana up against the desk.

"But you're such a pretty lady, Ms. Lopez. I love to have fun with pretty things, no matter how the plumbing's set up," he said, his mouth set in a snarl. He groped her breasts, holding her down against the desk with his body.

Santana yelled out, trying to break his grip on her. He lifted her and slammed her against the desk, forcing his lips up against hers.

She let out a muffled scream in protest against his lips, struggling wildly.

Sebastian let go of her arm for another grope, ripping her dress viciously at the bust. His hand traveled further down, his finger searching expectantly.

Santana finally managed to get an arm out, and she raked out with her nails violently. She made contact with his face, leaving two deep gashes on his cheek.

Sebastian roared out, letting go of her and cupping his hand over his eye.

Santana scrambled over the desk, trying to get over it and to the door. There had to be at least one of her men somewhere down the hallway. She had to get to them.

Sebastian wiped the blood from his face, teeth bared in fury. Santana was almost over the desk. He grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her back towards him.

She lashed out again, but missed. Sebastian screamed through his teeth, his anger uncontrollable. He looked to the corner of the desk and snatched up the desk lamp sitting there.

Santana looked back to him in horror as she watched him raise it over his head.

His eyes met hers, and time seemed to freeze for a moment; the horror frozen on her face, the insane look of pleasure in Sebastian's smile, the adrenaline pumping through both of them.

"See you in hell, pretty boy," said Santana smoothly just before Sebastian brought the desk lamp down on her skull with all his might.


End file.
